


Cold Coffee

by Meimeiriron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Family, Friendship, Humor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meimeiriron/pseuds/Meimeiriron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war took its toll on everyone, but Percy Weasley can barely breathe on his own anymore. It's hard to let people in after shutting them out for so long. A look into Percy's life after the war and how he copes with it and comes to terms with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Waking up was always the hardest.

Dreamless sleeps were hard to come by, and when he had finally found himself in the blissful peace of oblivious unconsciousness, the sleep just never lasted long enough. He would lie awake in bed for hours, refusing to get up and face the terrors of reality that stood before him. He would look at himself in the mirror with disgust at the face of the ( _traitorous, useless_ ) gaunt ghostly blur that was his reflection. That was who he was, he had to remind himself; he was Percy Weasley.

It was a week after the war had ended, and it was Fred's funeral. No, he stared at himself hard in the mirror and ran a hand through the messy red curls that needed cutting, no. He would not go to the funeral. Nobody would want him there; he would just bring more grief than anything else. He carefully slipped on his glasses and blinked as his reflection became sharper and clearer. He stumbled out of the bathroom and out towards the kitchen of his tiny, immaculate flat. Well, not so much immaculate now, he thought to himself, seeing as everything was strewn about carelessly. He hadn't had the chance to clean it after the war; they had raided the place three weeks ago, and of course they found nothing. Percy Weasley, if anything, was good at covering his tracks.

He filled his glass with water and pulled out the box of painkillers. He needed something to fix the throbbing pain in his head and in his chest. The healers told him he was fine, physically, anyway. Nights were always filled with nightmares now. He would wake up in cold sweat and with a scream, and he wouldn't know what to do. Bill had come over to try to talk to him, but he shooed him away. He didn't know if he had the energy to deal with his family just yet. They would only mock him, he thought, they would hate him. They already hated him. He swallowed the pills; it should have been him that died, not Fred.

He hadn't left his flat in the whole week after the battle. His hands would break out into tremors when he did, and he just couldn't face the judgemental gazes of those in muggle London, no, they didn't understand what he had been through, what any of them had been through.

The memory of the war itself sent shivers down his spine, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled out on the floor, out of breath, dazed, and shaking. His legs had failed him again, just like he had failed his brother, and just like how he failed his family. He was a failure. It should have been him. He reached up to adjust his glasses, but his hands were shaking too much and he couldn't think, so he just lay there. It's what he deserved.

He was broken out of his daze when the doorbell rang, followed by angry raps at the door. He knew who it was, and he knew he had to open the door, but he couldn't find the energy to lift himself off the floor. He closed his eyes and ignored the continued knocks at the door.

"Percival Ignatius Weasley, you open this door right now!" came the angry Scottish tinted voice from the other side of the door. " _Alohomora!_ " was exclaimed, and the door opened with a loud click. Percy sighed as he heard the heavy footsteps stomp over to him, and he was greeted with the angry face of Oliver Wood in a neat black suit leering over him. That face quickly changed to one of pity, and the scot knelt down beside Percy, helping him to sit up and lean his back against the kitchen counter.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Oliver, I'm fine," he replied, strain in his voice that said the opposite, "It's just the tremors. The healers said I will be fine as soon as I get over the shock of the battle."

"You're taking it very hard, aren't you?" he said perceptively. Percy always hated that Oliver could see right through him. 7 years of rooming together in Hogwarts did that to a person.

"Yes, Oliver, I'm taking the death of my little brother very hard because I did indeed see him die in front of my very own eyes and I could do nothing to stop it from happening." He looked down to his pale hands to see that they were shaking violently now. Oliver reached over him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"You'll be alright, there there," he said, trying to be comforting, "But you still have to come to Fred's funeral."

Percy sighed and shrugged Oliver off, "I know my parents sent you because I won't listen to any of my siblings, and you know that I won't go."

"Percy, they need you."

"No," he spat back sharply, "They don't need me. Three years they never needed me and it isn't suddenly going to change. It's better if I didn't go. I'll just make everyone upset."

"Look, your Dad looked like a mess and he specifically begged me to come and find you and to bring you back. He said you can take your time with coming home and stuff, and they won't pressure you in the funeral. They've talked it over, but they just want you to know they want you at the funeral."

"Stop lying to me."

"You know I'm not lying, Perce," Oliver sighed, "You know I'd never lie to ya. You're my best mate."

"Oliver, I'm not going and that's final."

"I'll carry you over there if I have to."

"Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but," he paused and stood up adjusting his glasses and tousling his curly red hair, "I really can't come. I'm busy."

Oliver snorted incredulously and stood up, looking up at Percy with a look of complete disbelief, "I was told you resigned from the Ministry."

"Exactly," he replied, "I'm looking for a job."

"That can wait, you have plenty of cash in the bank, Perce. You can take one day off to pay respect to your brother."

"I can't pay respect to someone I—"

"You're going to say killed," Oliver sighed, "But you have to come to terms with the fact that it's not your fault. It will never be your fault. It was a bloody war, Perce! People were going to die."

Oliver reached up to place a hand on Percy's shoulder, stupid guy had to be taller than him, and just tried to be reassuring. He could feel him trembling under his hand. Oliver took a moment to glance around at the ruined room. There was glass swept away to the corner along with the picture frame that it came from. It was so unlike Percy to not clean up a mess. He walked over to the mess and saw the gently moving photograph nestled between the glass shards.

"Don't look at that," Percy protested weakly. He had tried to hold onto Oliver's wrist to stop him from going, but his grip was still weak and tired.

Oliver recognised the pretty lass in the photograph anywhere, with her long blonde hair and kind smile: Penelope Clearwater. She moved slightly, her hair falling gracefully over her shoulders as she seemed to laugh in the portrait. She was Percy's ex-girlfriend come best friend. It wasn't fair. Percy suffered endlessly for some things that just weren't his fault. It was in Percy's guilty nature. Inside of that pompous, arrogant little sod was a man who only wanted to be accepted. Percy was like a rubiks cube, Oliver thought, remembering that one toy Percy was challenged by a muggle born to solve. Percy had solved it almost instantly with his brilliant mind, however Oliver just couldn't understand it. That's when Percy described the algorithms behind it. Percy was like a rubiks cube; he was complex until you figured out the algorithms of understanding him. Oliver sighed. He knew when Percy was hurting, even when his face didn't show it.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Percy," he said, "I'm so sorry. She was a good friend." He heard a hiccup of what seemed to be tears behind him, and when he turned he saw Percy leaning against the kitchen counter with his head in his hands. He walked over to the redhead and gave him a pat on the back. "It'll be alright."

"Stop telling me that it'll be alright!" he shouted between the sobs, "My brother was fucking  _killed_  in front of me and I did nothing. And Penelope,  _shit_ , Penny. Oliver, I let her die."

"You've got to stop blaming yourself for everything, mate," Oliver said, "You saved so many people. Your parents don't know, and so many people don't know and they may never know, but think of the lives you saved, Perce. You helped them run, and you risked everything to save them."

"I couldn't even save those closest to me."

"We all have to make sacrifices. You could have never known that Penny would be caught on her way out. You could have never known."

"I wish I did."

"We all wish we did, but there's nothing you could have done. You've done so much."

"I could have done more."

"You left your entire family to protect them. If that's not dedication, I don't know what is, Percy. Everything you've done, you've done for them and for the good of all wizards."

"I just—"

"None of that, Percy. Your parents don't know it, but you were a hero. The silent hero that saved the world from behind. They don't know it, but I do, and so many others do."

"I-I," he started, faltering on his words, "I have to go change, Oliver."

"Where you going?" he asked, confused as Percy walked stiffly towards his bedroom. That wasn't the response he was expecting.

"I'm going to join up with the Death Eaters," he replied, a hint of a smile on his lips as he turned to look at Oliver, "Obviously. You're not dressed for a funeral."

"I'm in a black suit, mate! What more could you want!"

"We're talking about Fred, not me."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was a bad idea. Percy knew it was a bad idea. He wore the most garishly coloured suit he could find, trying to lighten the mood as Fred would have wanted, but he still couldn't dull that sick feeling in his stomach that he didn't belong. He had taken his pills, though, he made sure to take them. The anxiety had died down thanks to them. He had Penelope to thank for introducing him to that muggle psychiatrist that helped him through the stressful times before the war. And now, he needed all the help he could get, but what could he say to a person who didn't see what he saw?

"How do I look?" Percy asked, stepping out of his bedroom for Oliver to inspect. He was wearing a pinstripe green suit jacket along with mismatched red dress trousers. He even wore a polka dot bow tie he had gotten from Penny one time three years ago. He knew Fred was laughing somewhere at his terrible fashion sense.

"Horrible, absolutely horrible," Oliver said with a quiet chuckle. He was adjusting a bright blue and sparkly tie that he borrowed from Percy's drawer. "Why you have so many ties absolutely confounds me."

"Presents," he replied, "People always liked giving me ties. They thought it was professional."

"And yet you wear the exact same pair of shoes with every fancy suit and tie," Oliver pointed out. Percy looked down to his feet and noticed that he was indeed wearing his one and only worn down brown oxfords.

"You don't deviate from the classics, Oliver."

"You're a giant nerd."

"Never denied it," he said, "Come on, you have to apparate me. If I do it I think I'll splinch myself."

Oliver nodded and took Percy by the arm before apparating them away with a pop. It made Percy feel woozy, and when they landed on the grass, he had to look for the nearest tree to lean on. His tremors were coming back, and he tried to calm himself down by taking his glasses off and cleaning them. That had the adverse effect, as he dropped them into the grass. He flinched as he heard the crunch that was Oliver's heavy foot stepping on them.

"Oh, shit, sorry!" he exclaimed, reaching down to take them and fixing them with a quick, "Reparo!" and a wave of his wand. He gently reached over and placed them back on Percy's face, balancing it on the bridge of his nose. "They wouldn't fall down if you would wear them up instead of down."

"Where are we?" he asked, blinking and looking about the empty area. Then, he saw the big gathering of people around a small makeshift stage and he knew this was the place. He sighed. "I'm scared, Oliver."

"Don't be, it'll be fine."

Percy took a deep breath and began walking down towards the group of people, Oliver following closely behind. As he approached, he got weird looks from acquaintances and old friends, especially looks of disgust. He didn't blame them; he deserved every last one. Unbeknownst to him, Oliver was glaring at anyone who dared give a look of disgust to Percy.

"Percy!" came the excited voice of Mrs Weasley, "Percy, Percy! You've come!" She rushed over to him, smothering him in a tight hug, "Look at you, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Mum," he said, hugging her back in return. He didn't want to let go. She eventually let go and he had to lean down so she could take his face in her hands and kiss him on either cheek. "I'm sorry if you worried."

"Worried?!" she exclaimed, smacking him in the arm, "Of course I was worried! You know where you've been on the clock?"

"You," he paused, shaking his head, "I'm still on the clock?"

"Of course you are!" she said, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief, "You're my son, and you're still our family, Percy. Why would you think otherwise?"

Percy didn't know. He was scared to admit that it was always a fear of his, and it had gotten worse after the war. He hated himself, and surely everyone must hate him too for leaving, yes? He looked towards the stage, then back to his Mum, feeling grief wash over him. Fred. Fred was the first to forgive him, and now he was gone.

"Percy," came the tired voice he recognised as his father. He turned around and could only catch a glimpse of him before he was pulled into a tight hug once again. He returned the favour and sighed into the embrace. "I'm so glad you came. I was scared you weren't going to come."

"I wasn't planning to," he said. There was no point lying, he just didn't have the energy for it, "But I thought I caused enough pain that it was the least I could do."

"Thank you, son," Mr Weasley said, putting emphasis on that final word 'son'. Percy wouldn't admit that his heart lifted at that word. He eventually had to pull away when George physically wrenched him out of his father's grasp and pulled him into his own hug. He was surprised to say the least, because he expected that George would be the one who hated him most. George buried his face into Percy's chest and said nothing, so Percy just hugged him back.

"You came," George said weakly, but there was that hint of hopefulness in there. "I'm so glad you came."

"Are you okay, George?"

"I'm better now that you're here."

"George," he started, though his voice faltered and failed him, just like he failed everyone else. He couldn't even begin to express what he wanted to say. He wanted to say that he wanted George to shout at him and scream and tell him that it should have been him. This, no, this was not what he expected. "George, I'm sorry."

"No," George protested, pulling away from the hug and reaching up to place his hands on his older brother's shoulders. It was always awkward being the tallest Weasley, Percy thought to himself, even Bill was shorter than him by a couple of centimetres. It meant looking down on everyone, literally, and it made him feel terrible in retrospect. "No, okay?"

"Okay," he replied meekly.

"I love what you're wearing," he said with the hint of a laugh in his voice, "Fred would have loved it, you know. I mean, I'm saying this because I love it, so I'm assuming he would love it too."

"I thought if anything I could at least make him laugh at me again," he replied.

"I'm just upset I didn't get to do that," George said, looking down at his black suit. He did, however, pull up his trouser leg to show off his brightly coloured socks with sloths stitched onto one of them and chickens on the other. "I did try, though. You know how the parents are."

"Of course, yes," he replied, "I'm surprised they didn't scold me for it."

"It's because you're the favourite," he teased with a laugh, "And since they're happy you're back and all." He paused, then sighed, "I have to give a eulogy thing about Fred."

"I'm sorry."

"You're the first person to be sorry about it."

"Am I not supposed to be?"

George laughed, "Well, I think you're the only one who gets it. Not wanting to go up and talk about what you lost. It's just a reminder, isn't it? And it doesn't make the pain go away. It makes everyone else just feel better."

"I'm not a fan of funerals."

"Me neither, Perce, me neither," he sighed," I thought Fred and I would have a joint one. We had something planned for it, like, exploding cake or something."

"Well, you can do it at mine," he replied.

"Don't say it as if it's going to happen soon," George said, "Or I'll put you on suicide watch with Mum."

"You wouldn't dare," Percy said with a wry smile.

"You're like, my second favourite brother after myself, so yes, I would," he said, "Just," he paused, shaking his head, "Don't leave us again."

"Why would I do that?"

"I know you," George said, "You think we don't know you, but Fred and I knew you the best out of everyone. When you're scared, you run. That's what you're like, and that's not bad."

"It's very un-Gryffindor."

"No, I think it's very Gryffindor," George protested, "We're all scared of something, and I know you like to clear your head and think things out yourself, but you can't do that now. You can't just leave us again and try to sort out your life alone, Percy."

"You're the one I should be giving life lessons to, not the other way around."

"Please don't leave."

"I won't, George, I won't."

The rest of the funeral went by in a daze. He wasn't exactly sure what was real and what was a lie. He vaguely remembered speaking to people before his tremors set back into his hands and his legs and he was forced to sit down on the white wooden chairs in front of the stage. He remembered being given water by his very worried mother who had to hold his arm steady for him to drink. She was weeping uncontrollably, asking if he was alright and why it was that he couldn't hold a plastic cup without spilling all of its contents before it even reached his mouth. He didn't know, Mum, he didn't know. He sat through the ceremony, and he felt the sinking feeling in his chest that made it hard to breathe. Bill came to sympathetically hit him on the back to release his airways and get him to breathe again.

As Percy was about to leave with Oliver, he overheard his siblings talking about him.

"He's taking it so badly," he heard Ron say, "As if the rest of us aren't just as sad as he is about it. He's acting as if he's the centre of the universe."

Ginny smacked him in the arm, hard, "Don't you dare say that about him!" she exclaimed, "He's stressed, Ron, he's having a hard time coping, just like the rest of us."

"The rest of us didn't crush a cup of water with our bare hands!"

"We had each other," Ginny said, "He had himself. I know Mum said to give him time, but I want him back. He needs to know that it's alright to cry."

"You know how Percy is," Charlie piped up, "Never cries, that one. Bill and I bet that he doesn't actually have the ability to cry."

"To be fair, I said that he could cry, Charlie said he couldn't," Bill said, "I just think he needs time. Percy had a hard time during the war, and it's not fair to expect him to be okay so soon."

"I watched Fred die too," Ron said, obviously bitter, "He thinks he's the only one, but I was there."

"Ron," Bill started, "Percy is different. He was forced to continue working in the Ministry after the Death Eaters took over. Do you know how hard that is?"

"Hermione, Harry, and I all went out to save the world, bloody hell!" he shouted, "He stayed in his stupid fucking office and did nothing. Where was he when Dad got bitten, huh? Or when Greyback attacked you? Nowhere, because he was never there for us!"

"That's not fair," came a new voice. Percy turned to see that Oliver had his hands balled up into tight fists as he marched right over to the group, dragging Percy along with him. "That's not fair of you to say at all, Ron. Percy did everything he could to save you."

"That's a fucking lie, he wasn't anywhere!"

"Ron, just shut up!" Ginny begged, walking over to Percy who was staring blankly at the floor. "Percy, I'm sorry, okay? Whatever that's happened between us in the past 3 years, I'm sorry, and we love you, okay?" Percy shook his head, staring at his hands that had started shaking uncontrollably. Ginny noticed and took his hands in hers, squeezing them. That was enough to ground him and he let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"Percy has never asked for anything," Oliver growled, "He's always had your best interests at heart."

"Stop it!" Ron shouted, his face blazing red in his anger, "Stop trying to defend him! He was a traitorous fiend, Oliver! He abandoned us, and for what? A job at some shabby Ministry that fell and didn't at any point try to help us! He told me to stop talking to Harry!"

"He's made mistakes," Oliver said, "I'll admit that, but he's a good man. He came back to fight, didn't he?"

"Too late, because now Fred's dead because of him."

There it was. That was the blow Percy had been waiting and anticipating for the entire afternoon. It hit him like a painful Crucio straight to the chest, and he felt his mind crumble into pieces onto the ground. He pulled his hands away from Ginny and covered his ears, shaking his head as if he were a child back in the war again, trying to block out the sounds of curses being thrown all around him. His glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose and he was shaking.

"What is it, you can't take the truth, you coward?" Ron spat, "You should've been sorted into Slytherin, and then we could've disowned you without the fuss of wondering whether you ever cared."

Percy couldn't take it. Everything was swimming around him and his head was throbbing and he knew Ron was right. He didn't say anything, but he heard everyone else shouting. He didn't know what they were saying or who they were shouting at but to him, all the shouting was the same. It was about him and it was all his fault. He stumbled backwards, out of Bill's grasp on his shoulder, and he disapparated. Anywhere was better than there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: It's a bit sad to say the least. I like to imagine that most of the family was willing to forgive after seeing how readily Fred forgave him, but I also like to think that there's some bitterness. Even if they try to be the best to him, sometimes it's bitter, and Ron is just not good at that he just goes full on angry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Look what you've done!" Mrs Weasley shouted between her hysteric sobs, hitting her youngest son on the arm with her cloth. They had just told her about Ron's outburst and Percy's sudden disappearance. "You drove him away! My poor boy, he was so ready to come home too, and you drove him away!"

"He's not poor," Ron grumbled, "Sure he's got loads of money from sucking the Minster's—"

"Ron!" Bill shouted, smacking him on the head, "You hurt him, didn't you see?"

"So what?" he argued, "He hurt us. It's only fair."

"Where is he now?" Ginny asked, glancing over to the clock that hung up on the living room wall in the Burrow. Percy's hand was always hovering on 'lost' for the longest time after the war. They had all noticed that. Ginny remembered her mother's panic when before the war, Percy's hand would fall on mortal peril over, and over, and over again. When the Ministry fell, they were worried. If only Percy knew just how worried they were.

"We don't know," Charlie said, "Oliver's gone to look for him. George ran off in a rush with him to help look."

"Oh, poor George," Mrs Weasley sobbed, trying to keep herself calm for the sake of her family. "He was so happy too about Percy coming home." Mr Weasley pulled her away so that she could compose herself. Grief was better shared than shouldered alone.

"Aren't any of you angry?" Ron asked incredulously, "Aren't any of you mad that he left us? That he betrayed us for the Ministry?"

"Ron, that's not fair," Hermione said, taking his hand and trying to calm him, "He made his mistakes, but he apologised."

"Yeah, and a sorry is really going to cut it for all the pain he's put us through! It's not fair, and everyone should stop acting as if it is!"

"I'm angry too," Bill said with a huff, "I was angry at him for leaving, Ron, I was so angry that he could do that to his own family, but you know what, Ron? I realised something." He paused, glaring down at his youngest brother, the scars on his face making him look a lot more threatening, "I realised that I wasn't just angry at him, I was angry at myself. I was angry that I wasn't there to stop him or to help him, and that I didn't even try to find him in those three years. What about you? He sent you a letter, albeit a pretentious one, but did you try to talk to him?"

"Well, I—" Ron was cut off by a dry laugh from the eldest son.

"Exactly. None of us did. We left him alone. Mum tried to talk to him, but I think what he needed the most was someone that wasn't Mum to reach out to him."

"He sent back the sweater."

"Percy has every right to be angry," Bill replied, "We were wrong about him. Dad admitted that he was wrong. He got the promotion by pure talent, despite the Crouch incident, and it was probably the worst thing to have his talents diminished like that. Percy's one of the brightest wizards I know, and if I were him I would have felt devastated too."

"He left us," Ron mumbled, shaking his head. Hermione put her arms around him in an attempt to calm him. He was grieving, just like the rest of them, but he sadly also had a fiery temper and need to find an outlet. That outlet just happened to have been Percy. "He left us, okay."

"Just because someone leaves doesn't mean they can't return," Hermione said, "It'll take time for everyone to begin understanding each other again." There was a wistfulness in her tone, and that was when Ron and Harry remembered how she obliviated her parents in order to protect them. Just like Percy, she had left her family in hopes that it would keep them safe.

"We better look for him," Bill said, glancing at the clock on the wall, "You should never apparate when you're not in the right state of mind."

"Obviously," Harry said, nudging Ron playfully in the arm, "He's the living testament of that."

"That's just bloody rude!"

* * *

Percy, on the other hand, returned safely to his flat in London. His hands were still over his ears, and he stumbled around, trying to get his bearings straight. Nothing looked the same and the room spun around him, and the next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, the ceiling swirling around above him. The lights seemed to flare out in front of him. He needed new glasses; his astigmatism just made his headache worse. He couldn't get the words Ron had said to him out of his head. It was true; everything was true.

He closed his eyes and he let the painful nostalgia wash over him.

_The Great Hall always looked largest when you were a new first year student at Hogwarts. It didn't help that Percy was the smallest little kid so far. The preppy boy who had insisted on talking to him, Oliver Wood, was sorted into Gryffindor, and he hoped that he would be the same. He couldn't let his family down._

" _Percy Weasley!" Professor McGonagall called, and he walked up the steps, dragging his long robes behind him as he sat down on the stool. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head and he held his breath, waiting for the Hat to shout 'Gryffindor' without a second thought. But the weight of the hat on his head made him feel anxious, and he knew something was wrong with him._

" _Ah, a Weasley," the hat whispered into his ear, "Normally I don't have a problem putting you into Gryffindor, but I can see clearly that you're different."_

' _Different?' Percy thought, 'No, I love my family, I'm a Gryffindor.'_

" _You say that, little Percy, but your intelligence and your wit should put you nicely into Ravenclaw." The hat was silent for a while, then it continued, "But I see deep ambition in you. It is nothing to fear, ambition is good for a man wishing to go places. I can see that you are willing to do anything to achieve what you know you deserve. Slytherin would suit you nicely."_

' _Not Slytherin!' he shouted in his head, 'Please, anything but Slytherin.'_

" _Are you scared of what your family may think, boy?" the hat asked, "Do not fear it. You had an uncle, who just like you I saw potential and ambition. He did not want to be sorted into Slytherin either. I put him there, and it was the happiest he ever was."_

' _I don't remember him.'_

" _You don't remember the very uncle you are named after, Percival Ignatius?"_

' _Uncle Ignatius wasn't in Slytherin.'_

" _Oh yes, he was. He went far, and your mother loved him just the same, Percy. They would still love you regardless of where you went"_

_Percy gulped, 'Please put me in Gryffindor. I want to be with my family. I don't want to be different.'_

" _Is that all you want, boy? Do you not thirst to achieve greatness like your brothers before you? Do you not wish to_ exceed _them? Slytherin would do you well. You would fit in so finely. They will treat you like one of their own, and you will no longer feel to isolation you feel with your family. You will be an individual."_

 _The problem was that Percy did want those things. He wanted to stand out in his large family and finally be something other than Bill and Charlie's brother. He didn't want the expectations that he was forced to live up to. He wanted to be something special; he wanted to be something great. He shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts focussed on the one house that would help him_ belong _for once. 'Gryffindor, please.'_

" _As we've been here long enough," the hat trailed off before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"_

_A loud applause came from the table, and Percy made his way quickly towards where Oliver Wood was sitting alongside his brothers, Bill and Charlie. His heart was racing, and Bill reached over to pat him on the back._

" _That took a good 5 minutes," Bill said, "That was the first hat-stall I have ever seen. What were you two chattering away about?"_

" _Was it really that long? He wanted to put me into Ravenclaw," Percy lied, too easily for someone supposed to be chivalrous, "I told him I wanted to be in Gryffindor with all of you."_

" _You know, there's nothing wrong with a smartypants," Bill said, nudging him in the arm, "It's Slytherin you've got to be worried about."_

_He let out an awkward laugh, "Yeah, luckily he didn't think about that."_

A sharp noise of apparition pulled Percy out of his memory, and he blinked away the nostalgia in an attempt to understand his surroundings. He was lost. He heard shouting, but the blood was throbbing too hard in his ears for him to understand what they were saying. The next thing he knew, there were arms pulling him up from the floor and carrying him towards the couch.

"Percy, are you okay?" came the accented voice of none other than Oliver Wood, "We were so worried about you."

"Yeah, you git, why'd you disappear?" asked the second voice. Fred? Percy shook his head, no, you idiot, he thought, obviously it wasn't Fred it was George.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking his glasses off and rubbing at his face, "I was panicking."

"Don't listen to Ron, okay?" he said, "I'll keep him in line for you. I'll take up the responsibility as house prefect, okay?"

That got the tiniest, wry smile from Percy as he placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, hands still shaking from the apparition. "I'll be fine, George, I just need to relax."

"You're shaking, Perce," George said, glancing over at Oliver who had gone to fetch some water for Percy, "You can tell us what's wrong."

"George I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"You're trying to ignore your own feelings in favour of someone else and it's not going to work. You need to face your own fears," he said, his voice cracking slightly near the end as the tremors worsened, "I can't let you try to help me when I should be helping you."

"Maybe that's true," George replied, tone more serious, "Maybe I'm distracting myself, but that's better than just wallowing in self pity. I want to move on, and I want you to do it with me."

"George," he started, then he shook his head, "It's harder than that. It's not that simple."

"Then we'll figure it out. You're talking to George Weasley, we used to get ourselves out of sticky situations all the time." We. Percy noted that George used We. He wasn't talking about George and himself, no, he was talking about  _Fred_  and George, the inseparable twins. Percy shook his head, he didn't want to think about his little brother buried 6 feet under the ground when it should have been  _him_.

Oliver returned and handed Percy the glass, helping him to raise it to his mouth to drink. Percy tried his best not to spill the liquid everywhere as he did so. The liquid was cool as it ran down his throat and he felt the shaking slowly die down as he drank.

"But what if he was right?" he said just as he finished his drink, "What if I do belong in Slytherin?"

"That doesn't matter," George said, "Ron was angry. We all say stupid things when we're angry. You would know."

"I'm a coward," he muttered, shaking his head and raising his hands to cover his ears again, "I'm a coward. I don't deserve to be in Gryffindor."

"You're braver than you think," Oliver insisted, "Just because you have ambition does not mean you are a bad person. You are loyal and brave."

Percy let out a bark of laughter, "Not loyal enough to my family, apparently."

"You were brave," Oliver said, "You know how much guts it takes to stand up against your parents and your entire family? You stood up to them."

"But I was  _wrong_."

"Wrong or not, you stood your ground, just like a Gryffindor would. You  _are_  brave."

"Yeah, didn't you know?" George asked, looking between the two of them, "Fred was sorted into Gryffindor first, and when I went up the Sorting Hat raved on about Fred, you know. The two of us didn't get our house called out before the hat got onto our heads, you remember. We were there for a good minute each. He wanted us to go to Slytherin, you know?"

"Really?" Percy asked, suddenly feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulder. He wasn't the only one.

"Yeah, we laugh about it now. I know from Bill that you had a full on hat-stall, and well I think if you were in any other house, Fred and I would have been so upset."

"That's because it would be harder for you guys to bully me," he said with a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, true," George said, shrugging, "That and we looked up to you. Truth be told, if you went to Slytherin or Ravenclaw, we both would've followed you." He paused, sighing, "I guess I was scared." Percy noted the use of the personal pronoun. George, I, singular, alone. Percy shook his head, he didn't want to think about it.

"What were you scared of?" Percy asked.

"Of being different," he replied, "I didn't want to disappoint the family by not being in Gryffindor."

"That's funny, that's exactly what I thought."

"The hat told me that I should embrace who I am," George took a long pause, looking out into the distance, before turning back to Percy, clapping a firm hand on his brother's shoulder, "Then he told me that you were supposed to be in Slytherin. If you weren't so adamant about Gryffindor, you would have been put in Slytherin."

"He said that?" Percy asked, shocked, "And you never told me?"

"That's because I went and told that hat that he was wrong, and that my brother was the bravest person I knew. I went straight and told him, my brother Percy is braver than both Charlie and Bill put together."

Percy sat, dumbfounded by the entire situation. He shook his head, trying to comprehend what he was being told. After a while, he said, "You're lying."

"Am not," George said indignantly, "I'm a Weasley and Weasleys do not lie."

"A'right, a'right," cut in Oliver, with his Scottish accent played up for emphasis, "We get it, yer a bunch of nerdy snakes."

"Shut up, Oliver!" the both shouted simultaneously. The two brothers glanced to each other, back to Oliver, then back to each other and shared a small, quiet laugh. Maybe his family wasn't too bad after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I really love Percy so here's a story about him and post-war stuff. There are no relationships as of yet planned except for the canon one in the future. I like to think he suffers a lot from the trauma of the war, so it's good that he has friends there to help him out.


End file.
